


Not Quite A Castle By The Sea

by RyeBread



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, just absolute fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: Years after they’ve met, the Mighty Nein settle down as best they can. Most move on, but two stay together.





	Not Quite A Castle By The Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StardustCleric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustCleric/gifts).



> Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for @stardustcleric who gave me a wonderful prompt that had me writing thousands of words I had to pare down into this and I hope they enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It's been years since their last adventure. Or rather, as Fjord would say, their latest adventure. Caleb understands, logically, that an absence of adventure does not imply a dearth of adventure in the future, but it is still a welcome reprieve.

They live by the sea, now, a day's ride from Nicodranas. It's not, on paper, strictly Fjord and Caleb's house, but more often than not they find themselves the only inhabitants. Veth, as she goes by now, is busy showering Luke and Yeza in all the years of affection she had been denied. Caleb feels a pang of guilt, sorrow, and jealousy when he sees them together, jumbled together with the love and admiration he has for her strength.

Jester visits most frequently despite traveling the farthest. Her visits are also the shortest. It's difficult to notice the ephemeral nature of her presence in their lives due to the impact of her whirlwind arrival. She brings with her tales, and paintings, and ledgers filled with the names and faces of the people she has met and converted and fought and loved. She misses them, she does, and she misses her mother; but her devotion to The Traveler is near absolute. It's also a lot of fun, she says.

Beau never settled down, not really, but she did find her place within the Cobalt Soul and with her family. Caleb suspects that she will never admit how much either mean to her, but it's nice to see her happy. Yasha... Well, she rolls in like the storms she worships, as unpredictable as a squall and as needed as the flood after a drought.

There is a place here for them all. Even Caduceus, though it has been a long time since he has made the journey south. His duties to the graves supercede most everything else, though the sixty foot tree in the center of his temple bears all their names. As the longest lived of them all, he also made the strangely comforting promise that he would be the one to put them all in the ground, barring an unforeseen accident.

So it is not through intent nor by mistake that it is Fjord and Caleb alone in their big house by the sea. They've had their squabbles and their promises and their loud declarations all in the past and now they live here; quietly, placidly like a lighthouse beacon to which their friends can pass by and know that the safety of shore is never all that far.

"You're in your head again, Cay," Fjord says, in the smooth, natural voice of his and steps out onto the porch overlooking the hill. They can't see the sea from here, to do that they would need to go upstairs, but they can smell it on the wind. It's softer now that the sun has been up for a while and the cool sea has warmed up some.

Caleb leans back and into Fjord's chest, which is as sturdy as its ever been despite their time away from the roads. "I am still here."

"Where else would you be?" Fjord asks, and it's a rhetorical question, but it has Caleb's forehead wrinkling in contemplation all the same. Fjord laughs, wraps one arm around his chest, and sets the other across his shoulders, bracing Caleb's chin against his forearm while he rests his own at the crown of Caleb's head. "Now you're really getting into your head."

Caleb sighs, "Ja, a bit." His accent has faded; he knows it was inevitable, being surrounded by so many varied voices, but he consciously twinges it into his words every so often. He's let go of his past, as much as he can--as much as he dares--but he's not abandoning it. "May we... may we go to the beach? I know it's getting late for that, it's going to be very hot..."

"Sure," Fjord says, and the confidence isn't so forced as it used to be; it's not undercut by inexperience or discomfort in his ability. They've all grown to understand themselves with time.

The sand is hot beneath Caleb's feet, his shirt and shoes abandoned on the beach grass beside Fjord's. It's overly hot and they need to squint to look at the ocean or the sand and it's all around a terrible time for a walk on the beach. But they walk it anyway, hand in hand, and listen to the surf crash into the shore as they meander along the hot, bright beach together. Caleb slows to a stop when a lone cloud drifts over the sun, giving them a few moments of shade. "Do you miss the ocean?"

"Sometimes," Fjord says, hand still clasped around Caleb's. "Then we take a walk down here and I don't anymore."

"I mean sailing," Caleb says, annoyed, but still humored. "You used to say you knew your place back then, that you fit in."

"I fit in here just fine," Fjord says, looking out across the waves. The light filtering through the cloud casts long, sparkling rays into the water father out. "It's nice having it all right here, though. Like I could head out whenever I wanted, even though I don't care to do so."

"Strange, isn't it," Caleb says, fondling the near perfect sphere of stone in his pocket. The lucky stripe bisects the two hemispheres, a vein of quartz or similar mineral. "To have such potential, and choose not to use it."

"Strange is a word for it," Fjord says easily. Never quite as reserved as Caleb, he holds his hand out for the Falchion. It appears, drenched and encrusted, with the single, glaring eye in the crosspiece. "He never does stop making demands, you know."

"It is in the nature of Gods to rule," Caleb says, staring into the cloven iris that swivels, ever so slightly, toward him. "I am relieved, I think, that we're not among them."

Fjord looks at the blade in contemplation; the eye looks right back. He gazes back out toward the ocean with its predictable tide and inexporable pull. "Do you think that makes us better than they are?" Fjord asks as the sun reemerges from behind the cloud. "That we could do amazing, world ending things--and we don't."

"It makes us different," Caleb says, watching Fjord go white-knuckled with his sword grip. He gives the hand he's holding a gentle squeeze, "Now who is in his own head?"

Fjord laughs, smiling around his short tusks. "You got me."

"I do," Caleb says, giving him one last squeeze before letting his grip slack and leaving their fingers loosely entangled. They walk the length of the beach, their long stretch of it from one rocky cluster to another. When they begin the leisurely stroll back toward the house, the breeze is beginning to pull them toward the sea as the sand cools much faster than the still warm water. The sun retreats on the horizon, painting everything in yellow and orange and the first touch of purple. Caleb releases Fjord's fingers to wander closer to the lapping waves, sinking into the wet sand. Fjord follows after, allowing Caleb his distance for the moment. Caleb looks over his shoulder, still walking into the water, now above his ankles, "Do you remember when we first came to this place?"

Fjord flexes his toes into the sand, watching Caleb brace against the waves that bat playfully against him. "I remember you stripping down naked as the day you were born."

The pull of the waves' retreat makes Caleb stumble a little more quickly into the sea, but he turns completely around and walks backward. "I remember you interrupting my swim to scare the shit out of me."

Fjord starts to walk into the water, then stops for a moment. He mutters a word, his form goes hazy.

Caleb spins in the water, "Don't-!"

Fjord reappears inches away, just deeper into the waves that they are of equal height when he pulls Caleb in to a chaste press of the lips. Caleb goes stiff at first, then relaxes into it, setting his hands on Fjord's shoulders. They brace each other against the tide for a few moments. "That's what I'd thought about doing back then, you know," Fjord murmurs against Caleb, pressing their foreheads together.

Caleb laughs, nudging their noses together for a moment before angling for another quick kiss. "So you elected instead to nearly drown me?"

"I'm not great with my feelings," Fjord admits. They laugh against each other for a moment, and it's a relief of sorts, to be vulnerable in the great expanse of the ocean while so close to shore. Caleb shivers first and Fjord rests against him, "I think it's time we turned in for the night."

"That sounds agreeable," Caleb says against his shoulder. Another rolling wave knocks against them, but they manage to keep their footing. Caleb mutters a few words, a familiar rhyme in a language neither of them speak, and in an instant they are standing in the intricately etched circle in their home's most warded sanctum.

Fjord lets go, taking half a set back to put enough space between them for Caleb to move. The water soaking their pants and skin evaporates quickly, leaving the slight itch of salt on their skin. "You know I love casual use of incredibly powerful magic," Fjord says, "but you forgot our clothes on the beach."

Caleb lifts a brow, and steps off to the side toward the shelf full of knick-knacks, treasures, and junk they've all collected over the years. He browses the dust-less objects a moment before his humming takes on a more deliberate and lilting tune and the air fills with the electric thrum of magic. The small, jade statues shake and stir, unfolding into stout little man-shaped constructs that  turn their faceless heads to Caleb expectantly. "Fetch our clothes from the beach grass, would you?"

"Show off," Fjord says, stepping out of the way as the little men clamber down off the shelves and out of the room.

"You like it," Caleb says, and he takes Fjord's arm as he walks past, encouraging him out and into the house proper.

"I like you," Fjord corrects, but follows along at the light tug. As they walk up the basement staircase and into the kitchen, Fjord scratches absently at the skin of his belly, grousing, "You couldn't have gotten the salt off?"

"I could have," Caleb admits, "but then I'd have no excuse to draw you a bath."

"The great Caleb Widogast, drawing bath water. Will you heat it over the stove for me, too?"

Caleb frowns, "Please, I am not that committed to the novelty."

Fjord laughs, closing his eyes for a moment, and Caleb is struck by the realization that he has well and truly made it. He could end his adventuring here and now--and he would be satisfied with what he has accomplished. For all his ambitions when he first made it out of the asylum, he feels the same sense of pride in himself as he felt when he looked into The Beacon and saw his parents' approval of his mission. When the laughter subsides, amused confusion flickers across Fjord's face and he puts a hand on Caleb's cheek. "What's got you smiling?"

"You," Caleb says, "this. Everything."

"It's a lot to smile about," Fjord says. Then his stomach roils loudly. He grins, sheepish, and asks, "How about we get that bath going so I can get started on dinner?"

The tub is a massive thing, a gift from Jester that she had managed to cram into that odd kerchief of hers and hauled it back to the house. They have no proof that she just stole it, but the bits of plaster that were stuck to where it would have otherwise connected to a wall don’t give Caleb much confidence in the alternative. Still, it’s a very nice tub. It takes several minutes to fill and seconds to heat to a temperature that won’t scald skin, but Caleb is well practiced by now. Getting Fjord into the tub takes a wordless gesture and a welcoming smile; getting him back out again requires getting himself into it, just for a moment, as compromise. 

Bathed, warm, and in fresh linens, they enter the kitchen to make the evening meal. It’s simple, even with Caleb occasionally flicking his fingers around the room to light a candle, or sharpen a knife that’s gone dull, or send a spectral hand out to pinch Fjord’s bottom when he’s bent over the basin. That last one gets him a flick of water in his face and a mock-angry growl. Somehow, dinner does get finished. They sit on the loveseat on the porch to eat, four little globes of light dancing about their heads. Fjord sets his empty plate on the floor and holds out a hand toward Caleb. He looks at it for a second before taking it with his own. Fjord smiles at him, looking full and exhausted, “I’m glad things worked out to bring us here.”

“It’s one of the more favorable outcomes,” Caleb says, and stifles a yawn. “All things considered.”

“Want to get married?”

Caleb blinks, “Uh.”

“I’m serious,” Fjord says, though he hasn’t picked himself up from his comfortable slouch. “Might as well make it official.”

Caleb’s heart thuds in his chest, “You are serious?”

“We’ve been meaning to get everyone together for a while now,” Fjord says, rubbing his thumb along Caleb’s knuckles. “It’d be pretty damn hard for Beau or Yasha to find an excuse to avoid it.”

“I...” Caleb stammers, turning to face Fjord—who is finally sitting upright. “You want to get married?”

“I asked,” Fjord says, easy as anything. “We don’t have to.”

Caleb studies Fjord carefully, looking for some tell, some indication that it’s an extended gag. “No.”

“Okay,” Fjord says, though he looks away and his thumb stops its smooth circling.

“No,” Caleb says, “I mean. Not like this. We do this properly.” He reaches into his component pouch for the strands of wire and chips of gemstone. “Just a moment, just wait,” he says, fumbling.

“Caleb, what’re you-“

“A moment!” Caleb insists, concentrating on the copper wire. It shimmers, changing hue and lustre. Fjord starts to laugh and question what he’s doing, but Caleb hushes him again. He wraps it once, twice, three times around his finger, slips it off, and examines it. The looped wire and the gems disappear between Caleb’s clasped hands as he whispers something, not in the language of magic, but Zemnian. When he opens them, a ring sits in his palm. It’s not his best work, but it’s the best he’s managing in a few minutes. He holds his empty hand out to Fjord, who extends his own. He flips Fjord’s hand palm up and puts the ring on it. Standing up, he says, “Here. Ask me proper.”

Fjord beams, sliding off the loveseat to kneel, “Caleb Widogast, will you marry me?”

**Author's Note:**

> He says yes.


End file.
